


Tomorrow Night

by hunters_retreat



Series: Window to Window [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunters_retreat/pseuds/hunters_retreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  He smiled as it hit, inspiration, and he moved forward, changing his  paint brush to something broader before he dipped it into the red.  Pure and brilliant and flaring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow Night

**Author's Note:**

> So... I fell in love with this song from the musical Naked Boys Singing years ago and i've always wanted to write a story to it, and never quite found the right story or time.  So when I saw a prompt for "Paints in the nude Jared/ Neighbor with an excellent view Jensen"  I had to do it.  If you're interested in hearing the song it's called Window to Window (the reprise)or the original Window to Window (though I think the reprise fits best for this bit :P)  [ Naked Boys Singing](http://www.allmusic.com/album/naked-boys-singing!-original-los-angeles-cast-recording-mw0000265417)

 

 

  

 

 

  
He stared at the canvas and tried to think.  It wasn’t working.  Blank canvas.  Blank ideas.  Blank mind. 

Blank life.

He didn’t know why it helped, but it always did so just like almost every night of his life he began to pull his tee shirt over his head.  He felt less constrained instantly so he took a deep breath and worked at the button of his jeans, dropping them and tossing them a safe distance from the plastic he was standing on, adding his shirt to the mix also.  The hard wood floors would take the paint and he could always get a remover and redo the floors but it was a pain in the ass and the last thing he wanted to worry about when he was painting was making too big a mess.  He needed to know he could throw the pain, roll around it, fucking dance in it if he felt inspired to.  So he stared at the blank canvas, nude, paint brush in hand, paints in buckets waiting along the edge.  Waited for inspiration.

Blank muse. 

He knew what it was, what he needed to make this happen and he hated that he’d become this dependent on someone else.  On someone he’d never even met.

And yet, he felt it the moment he arrived. 

He closed his eyes, feeling the rake of eyes over his muscled back, down past his ass to the curve of his calves.  He smiled as it hit, inspiration, and he moved forward, changing his paint brush to something broader before he dipped it into the red.  Pure and brilliant and flaring.

He worked in a frenzy of scarlet and turned his shoulder only slightly so that he could look over it to the window across the way.  Not even a street separating them, just the narrow expanse of the courtyard between their condos.  The man stood at his window, leaning with one arm against the glass wall, one leg bent, his free hand shaking a beer bottle against his knee.  He couldn’t see the eyes against the darkness of his apartment but he knew them, could feel the hunger in them from across the way.

He grabbed a new brush and reached for the yellow, smearing it in bright streaks that turned orange in places and where red bled through.  Fire and passion and searing heat. 

Forms began to take shape in the midst of the flames and he pulled the smaller brushes towards him, reaching for black and his mixing bin as he added darker red to the combination, giving definition to the bodies at the center.

He stopped when the needed the highlights, needed to add more texture with the lighter side of the flames and it was then he turned his head, letting his audience know he was aware of him.  He got the same reaction as always and Jared watched in fascination as the figure across from him worked his jeans down slender hips, leaving them to pool at his ankles.  It was too dark to see anything but the silhouette, but Jared dropped to his knees as he watched the other man’s arm moving, stroking himself slow and sure as he watched him.

Jared reached for another paint brush, another bin to mix with and then he was adding highlights to the piece, nondescript figures taking life in the highlights of flame and smoke. 

He could hardly stand it, the act of creation had always been a turn on, but the man behind him, his silent, dark muse made it more than that.  It felt like they were making love with every stroke of the brush, with every added texture and color they moved from innocent kiss to lips roaming and roving to worshipping each other with mouths and hands and their very souls.

He added the last brush stroke, unaware of how long he’d been at it, how long his silent admirer had been watching, but when he turned he was still there.  As Jared dropped the brush to the floor and pressed his hands against his own glass wall, he could see the other man’s hand moving faster, see the way his body pressed into it.  He didn’t touch himself, just watched as the other man reached his release, dropping to his knees, one hand on the wall, his forehead resting there. 

Jared followed, his head pressed against cool glass, cooling and damning and he wanted to rush across the build and pound on doors until he found the right one.

But he wouldn’t.  He never had and until the other man showed an inclination that he wanted him to, he couldn’t take the chance of ruining this.  He needed his muse, needed this dark silent figure too much to risk it.

He sat there for a few minutes, watching for a sign, but his muse just rose from his knees and pulled his clothes back on.  Jared sat back, waiting for what he knew would come next.  A single hand was raised, pressed tight to the glass, and after a minute, he backed away, closing the blinds, closing himself away from Jared.

He wanted to weep, wanted to scream out for him to come over, to let him come over, let him do anything, just don’t close the blinds!  He was gone though and there was nothing Jared could do about it.

He reached his hand out, red stained and aching, and pressed it against the glass.  When he pulled back, his print was still there, witness that his muse was real and alive.  Witness to his muse, that Jared was too.  He’d wash it off before he started again the next night, wash the window clean of anything and start from blank again.

He pressed forward one last time as he stood, his forehead against the wall and his clean hand pressed to the wall as well, as if that untainted hand could reach across the space and find him.

He took a deep breath, and sighed as he pulled away, his fingertips brushing over the glass lightly. 

“Until tomorrow night.”

 


End file.
